


Hell Yes I Want To

by riddlemethistoo



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018), Chilling Adventures of Sabrina - Sarah Rees Brennan
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28228152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riddlemethistoo/pseuds/riddlemethistoo
Summary: The Nick Scratch and Luke Chalfant scene absolutely NOBODY was waiting for! Set after Part 1, Nick Scratch is in the mood for role-play and a hapless witch at the Academy just has to deal with Nick's terrifying kinks. A companion piece to If I Want To.
Relationships: Dorcas/Nicholas Scratch, Harvey Kinkle/Nicholas Scratch, Harvey Kinkle/Nicholas Scratch/Sabrina Spellman, Nicholas Scratch/Luke Chalfant, Nicholas Scratch/Sabrina Spellman
Comments: 31
Kudos: 29





	Hell Yes I Want To

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mononoke_Hime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mononoke_Hime/gifts).
  * Inspired by [If I Want To](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22368019) by [riddlemethistoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/riddlemethistoo/pseuds/riddlemethistoo). 



> A winter solstice CAOS gift for all those I tormented with the latest chapter, particularly for Mononoke_Hime who I traumatized but whose comments I greatly treasure! Seemed an appropriate time for it (I'm not watching the solstice event first ep though, I'm a bingeing type, but I hope whoever does loves it!) And that everyone loves some witchy, sexy weirdness.

_December 30, 2018_

Nick Scratch wasn’t really a planner. He was more a ‘go with the flow, then turn it to your advantage’ type. 

Plans were for optimistic people like Sabrina. Nick found her certainty she could change the world extremely cute, and the power of her conviction was so strong he found himself believing in her too. Nick had no such conviction about himself. 

The problem with plans was that they went wrong. There was no way to save people from suffering or death. It was a downer when you really thought about it.

So Nick didn’t. Much better to focus on what you could control, like books and being fantastic in bed. Plans weren’t for him.

Schemes were different. Every witch was a schemer, and Nick was, in every way, one of the best.

On the night before mortal New Year’s, his every nerve ending lit up like the artificial stars in mortal Christmas trees, Nick admitted to himself his latest scheme might have backfired on him slightly.

He stalked through the Academy restless as one of their ghosts, red lanterns lending him either infernal spotlights or shadows. Nick couldn’t go to the library, because Prudence was there and she said if she heard Nick be sentimental again she’d cut his throat and pull his bleeding heart out through the hole. Whatever. Nick didn’t need someone to talk to about his feelings. Nick barely had any. No, Nick had something else in mind.

It was very unfortunate, but his path ahead was clear. Nick would just have to sleep with Luke Chalfant. 

The current scheme hadn’t even been a scheme, at first. It had been a whim. Go see the Spellman girl. She lived in his town… well, he’d never been to the town, but it was near his school. She was his favorite author’s daughter, and his girlfriends always talked about her. So he saw her, and her stupid boyfriend, and he thought… well. She was coming to him, to the Academy. He’d see her again. Probably her stupid boyfriend, too.

He broke up with the Weird Sisters.

Then she came to him—to his school, and she was fearless. She was everything he’d thought she would be, seeing her from afar. He particularly liked the way she tilted her chin up defiantly when she sang, and how her dark eyes sparkled when she talked about forbidden books.

“You’re all creepily hung up on Sabrina Spellman,” Dorcas had said to him last week, after he came home from his solo vacation in the Unholy Land. 

When you were alone it was better to be away at times like the Solstice, because everybody who had someone would be together. 

Dorcas had wanted to celebrate his return, had sat herself down on his lap and started undoing his buttons. He’d tried to turn her down tactfully, slipping her some tactful tongue.

Dorcas winked at him, cheekily, imitating the way Sabrina had winked at him after she’d signed the Book. “How about I’m Sabrina for the night?”

Nick hesitated. “Tempting, but…”

She’d caught his hesitation. “It’s just what you need, to stop being all tangled up and calm down. ‘Oh, Nicholas Scratch, it is so startling to see you having an orgy with the Queen of the Feast and many alluring friends! I was simply staying home with my hairband and a scowl. What, you kindly invite me to join in? Why, I am scandalized to the depths of my virginal soul! But perhaps I’ll go to bed and touch myself about it.’”

Dorcas tipped her red head back against Nick’s shoulder, sliding a hand downward.

“She doesn’t scowl,” Nick said, scowling. 

She was _worried_ , because the Weird Sisters kept killing mortals, and Sabrina had mortals she loved. Sabrina loved her family, too. She talked about love, even in the Academy. Nick liked hearing her talk.

“I can get a cheap white wig from that little horror-laden bookstore,” Dorcas continued. “It will look just like Sabrina’s ridiculous new hair.”

“I think her new hair is—” don’t say beautiful, Dorcas would laugh and tell Prudence—“Sexy.”

“So you’re in?” When Nick was silent for a moment, Dorcas turned her head, lips close to his. “Come on,” she purred. “Call me Spellman.”

He stood and dumped Dorcas on the floor. 

He wasn’t going to do it. Sabrina wouldn’t like it, and she already didn’t know about the Dark Lord telling Nick to make nice with her. She’d understand that, she’d already signed the Book and she’d do her own Dark Devotion soon, but the funny, sweet, upset little look she’d got when he invited her to the orgy still haunted him.

He hadn’t meant to upset her. It was meant to be a gesture of interest— _anywhere I am, you are more than welcome_. 

If that was what she preferred, Nick was more than happy to concentrate his attentions on Sabrina Spellman and her whole situation. He wasn’t going to sleep with Dorcas pretending she was Sabrina, because that would be disrespectful to Sabrina. Nick knew Sabrina was special. He was serious about Sabrina, and he intended to act like it. What he wanted was what she wanted.

And she wanted that mortal. So Nick would go get him. 

The scheme was a series of simple steps. 1) Nick would point out that the mortal owed Nick huge for protecting him from ravening ghosts. 2) So the mortal could give Nick some pointers on mortal methods of courtship, please, as that was what Sabrina enjoyed and the orgy offer had gone down like a malfunctioning broom. 3) But the mortal didn’t have to make that face, because Nick was benevolently prepared to share. Sabrina loved that mortal! Nick was happy to accommodate her. 

Step 3 had hit a snag, as the mortal had heard the word ‘share’ and instantly pitched a bitch. Nick didn’t see what his problem was. He couldn’t have expected to selfishly keep Sabrina exclusively to himself for his whole life, even if he wasn’t going to live all that long. That mortal was so lucky Sabrina loved him.

And he was lucky he was cute. At first glance, Nick had thought: _that’s nothing special, she should get rid of him_. Even the way he was holding himself was designed to provoke that dismissal, but Nick had always been sharper than most. The mortal had a sweet little smile for stuff he thought was cute—Sabrina, his friends, animals and children, not Nick yet—and some serious shoulders under all that hideous flannel. 

The first time he’d seen Sabrina, Nick had wandered over to make her mortal’s acquaintance. The mortal had called Nick a little endearing name— _nerd_ \--right away, and talked to him about love, and nature. Nick changed his mind almost at once. No, she should keep him. _We_ should keep him. He was adorable. 

Nick tossed a memory charm at the mortal, but carried away the memory of him, like a sweet in his back pocket. A treat Nick was going to have later. 

Then he’d rescued the stupid mortal from ghosts! Extremely romantic, swooping in heroically on Sabrina’s request, but was the mortal grateful? Did he say ‘(blasphemous reference to false gods deleted), Nick Scratch, you are so amazing at magic and also attractive, I utterly renounce the puritanical and detestable ways of my witch hunter ancestors, I think Sabrina will definitely love you soon and could we really share, thank you for putting up with my many shortcomings, would you like to make out?’ No, the mortal said nothing of the sort! Because he was a little bitch who was always upsetting Sabrina! 

But it was fine. Nick could be patient, when it came to things that mattered, like Sabrina and research. 

He resumed Step 3, and the mortal eventually agreed as well he should. There weren’t many students at the Academy who would’ve offered to share with a mortal on any sort of long-term basis, and Nick was the best of the best. 

The mortal didn’t understand this, but that wasn’t his fault. Nick was very accepting of mortal ways. They were sweet even though they were nonsense. 

Step 3 succeeded when Nick persisted. The mortal said okay, he could help Nick since Nick had saved him from ghosts and the help was for Sabrina. He gave Nick books about mortals and made him dinner twice, and said he thought witches could love people, and let Nick stay over in his house. It was true the mortal said things like ‘helping’ more than ‘dating’, but Nick was being very understanding and giving the mortal time to grow accustomed to witch ways. 

So it was onto Step 4. Fix all Sabrina’s problems. Whatever evil thing was going on this week, and also romantically. When she was in a good frame of mind, Nick would tell her that he’d secured her mortal for her, that he and the mortal were dating, and so obviously Sabrina should stop worrying and date them too. She didn’t have to fret about the mortal’s safety any longer. Nick had already said he would look after the mortal, and he intended to keep his word.

Sabrina would be very happy. Nick could already picture her glowing face. She liked Nick, he _knew_ she liked him. It was just this love problem, getting in her way. 

She’d appreciate Nick solving the whole business for her. It would make her love him, probably. 

The mortal would love Nick too, probably. Not that Nick really cared about that, but love was what mortals did. This mortal in particular was soft-hearted. It was going to happen. Nick had decided he would accept love graciously.

Step 3 of the scheme was going well. The mortal’s face went pleased when he saw Nick now, rather than the expression of extreme dismay he’d had when he first opened the door to Nick (why be upset Nick was hot? Surely that was good news?), and he’d offered to hang out and agreed to go to the movies with Nick, so they were definitely dating. And tonight, the mortal’s evil witch-hunter father had tried to kill Nick—pretty classic witch-hunter stuff—and the mortal had _defended him_. 

Nick still felt a little dizzy every time he thought about it. Or maybe that was the head trauma. 

There were only a few strange and puzzling elements to the near-perfect unfolding of the scheme. Nick couldn’t talk to Sabrina about it, since he wanted to surprise her, and he couldn’t talk to the mortal about it, since the mortal was the problem, and he couldn’t talk to Prudence about it because she would cut him. So there was nobody Nick could tell: My boyfriend doesn’t touch me.

That wasn’t true. He _did_ , and he would more.

But he didn’t do anything sexual, even kiss. Nick had believed he might be going in for a kiss tonight, but no such luck. Instead he’d wanted to inquire about how Nick’s vision was after getting hit.

Which was _concern_ , nothing anyone had ever felt for Nick in years. The mortal was a very attentive partner: Nick didn’t mean to complain. The relationship books he’d loaned Nick described many attributes of a partner and the mortal fulfilled a lot of them. He was ready to take on more than his share of childcare. He was a good listener and he was extremely supportive emotionally and he seemed prepared to do all the cooking. None of these things had ever occurred to Nick as desirable before, but now he had them and they were great.

Mortals liked to take it slow, the mortal had told him in a very serious voice, and so Nick would wait. 

The mortal was… shy, and that was all right. Nick was learning what that meant. He’d probably never done group stuff, judging by his reaction to the mention of it. Surely three or four people at a time, though? That was hardly a group. He and Sabrina had those two cute friends—But maybe not, Nick supposed. 

Nick had, actually, never had a boyfriend before. There were many more ladies than gentlemen at the Academy, and most of the guys were Judas Boys and wow… no thanks. Last time Nick and Dorcas had fucked a Judas Boy, he’d mentioned that a witch’s place was skyclad at a man’s feet. Nick and Dorcas had snatched up their clothes so fast Nick had left wearing Dorcas’s lacy shirt. 

Nick stopped in front of the senior boys’ dormitory—Nick had secured a room of his own instantly on entering the Academy, thank you Devil’s Snare spells—and took a few deep breaths to calm the feverish humming in his mind. It had been a stressful night! There had been a murder attempt on him. And then there had been the mortal, with his concerned face. Taking Nick back to the Academy. Wanting to take care of him.

 _Stop being all tangled up_ , Dorcas had suggested, and it had been a good suggestion. Nobody had to be respectful of mortals, or serious about them, because—because obviously. How could anyone? Only Sabrina would even dream of that. Mortals were silly, lovely, soft things, and the world would crush them until they were nothing. They were practically nothing already. It would be like getting fond of a figment of imagination, or a dream.

It was all fine. It would be fine. Nick simply needed to get it together and calm down.

He pushed open the door. Two guys were making out on a bed. Nick couldn’t see their faces, but Melvin was looking on sadly. Melvin was hardly ever invited to games. Clammy hands. 

Luke was sitting at his desk, doing an experiment with dried lizard skin. 

The guys on the bed looked up. “Hey, Nick! Want to…?”

“I’m chill,” said Nick, pleasantly. 

A group thing wasn’t what he was looking for right now, but it was always complimentary to be asked. (Sabrina hadn’t understood it was a compliment! Very embarrassing in retrospect!) The dark guy on the bed looked disappointed, but then shrugged and proceeded to a blow job. 

“I’m avail…” began Melvin, but the other guy on the bed shook his head firmly. 

Nick prowled forward to the desk and the lizard apparatus and the overly shiny blond head, bent over his work. Luke looked up, cold-eyed. 

“Nick Scratch, disgracing us with his presence,” Luke said. “To what do we owe the dishonor? Thought it was all mooning outside Sabrina Spellman’s window these days. While I’m toasty warm in Ambrose’s bed.”

“When it suits Ambrose,” said Nick, with a smirk. 

Ambrose kept annoying Luke by saying he was going to a family night, or that his cousin needed him. 

“Sorry, why are you here again?” asked Luke. “If Sabrina’s busy with one of their gross family affairs, isn’t there a mortal to make eyes at and have revolting banter with? Don’t you want to go to the _movies_ and have Harvey hold your _hand_?”

The mortal hadn’t tried to do that at any point. 

“If Father Blackwood knew you were wasting time with a witch-hunter…” continued Luke, and cut off because Nick’s hand was at his throat.

The red lanternlight leaped, and the other boys went still, crouched in the undergrowth like prey animals, hoping wrath and blood would pass them by.

“I already made myself very clear,” Nick said, soft as the sound of Amalia’s growl. “Say a word about him. Look at him. Even think about him. And you’ll pray to the Dark God you were safe in the grave.”

Luke coughed, painfully, when Nick let go. “Sorry! Yeah, you—you made yourself clear. It’s just that...”

He trailed off, giving Nick a resentful look. Nick had turned down twelve passes from Luke since November.

“You want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid,” sneered Nick. “And you don’t need any help in that area.” He sighed. “Fine, though.”

“Wait, what? _Really_?”

Luke dropped his lizard apparatus, so eager he forgot his usual smug composure. Luke got to fuck a hot guy on the regular these days, since enchanted confinement had drastically lowered Ambrose Spellman’s standards, but he was always real eager to fuck Nick. Probably because Nick’s ill-concealed dislike added spice.

Nick smirked at him, nastily, and stipulated, “I have conditions.”

\--

It was dark in Nick’s bedroom because he’d turned off all the lights and shut the curtains, and this new scheme was not without its complications.

The long heavy curtains were fallen open a slit, like a door left ajar, and a silver line of light struck the mirror. Nick could see himself in it, which wasn’t ideal: dark hooded untrustworthy eyes, hair gone wrecked and curly, the muscles of his chest already shining with sweat from all the making out and persuasive wrestling. Nick was glad about the way he looked, because it was useful, but that didn’t mean he wanted to see. Still, he often checked, to keep being useful and impressive, keep the swagger going. He flexed a bit, not because he wanted to impress Luke, but because it was best if they all stayed impressed and desiring.

Sometimes Sabrina tilted her head as though considering how he looked, a little smile playing about her mouth and speculative lights dancing in her eyes, before love made her look away. Soon he would be able to tell her she could have everything she wanted. Soon…

But it wasn’t soon yet. 

The mortal had never looked at all, but that was because he was shy.

The shadow of one of the four posters had fallen across Luke’s face and hair, for which Nick was thankful. In the dark, kneeling up on a pillow, he nuzzled Nick’s neck. Luke hadn’t slept with Nick that often, but often enough to know what he liked. Nick tipped his head back and shut his eyes.

“You are _so tall_ ,” Nick whispered, nuzzling back. Being affectionate. 

“I’d so much rather tie you up,” said Luke, pathetically. “Couldn’t I—”

“We can stop!” Nick snapped.

Luke sighed in surrender and threaded a hand into Nick’s hair, petting it carefully, then cupping the back of Nick’s head and dropping a light little kiss against Nick’s jaw.

“Oh, you pretty, soft thing,” Nick murmured, encouraging. “Smile for me. I, l—I like it when you do that.”

He looked too sad, mostly. He’d been smiling the first time Nick saw him, though.

In the Unholy Land, he’d seen mermaids singing and flirting their gleaming tails in the water, not as odd and fascinating as mortals but still deeply interesting. He’d charmed the mermaids as they sang to him, dipped his hands up to the wrists in water, and thought that next time he came he’d have Sabrina by his side.

And they would take the mortal with them, if he was good. The mortal thought nature was beautiful and wonderful. He’d talked about fish the first time he and Nick had met. He’d like mermaids. Nobody would be sad anymore.

Luke grabbed his ass, too hard and without asking—the mortal would never! Nick had been so clear!

“I will break your arm,” Nick said in Luke’s ear.

“Oh my dark God, your kinks are so stressful,” Luke squeaked. 

He recoiled slightly, and whether that was actual stress or pretend shyness, Nick could work with it. Nick made a little coaxing sound, to bring him back. 

“You’re doing so well,” Nick murmured. “You’re a good mortal. Come kiss me. Tell me you want to.”

“I—I want to,” stammered Luke, and with his voice low, stammering awkwardly, it was almost right. 

That made Nick want to reach out, so he did, careful. Nick laid his fingers against his jaw, but that didn’t work, the shape of Luke’s jawline was all wrong. The mortal actually had a great jawline, a clean long sweep, classically handsome in the five per cent of the time he wasn’t ducking or weaving or distracting the issue with terrible clothing or hair. Nick cupped his face in both hands instead, leaned in and kissed his startled-open, startled-soft mouth, the one that made sweet and sad shapes, sometimes snapped at Nick with an unexpected little bite and sometimes came out with even more unexpected sympathy. It made Nick want to say wild, insane things.

“Your stupid face makes me imagine being happy,” he said, low. 

“What was that?” asked Luke, who Nick was ignoring.

He pressed a thumb against the cupid’s bow of that soft mouth, imagined those wide easily-hurt eyes. _Little mortal love. I won’t hurt you._ He was saving him, for Sabrina. At least Sabrina would have one clean thing left. Nick was many things, but he couldn’t ever be that. He leaned in and kissed him again, and again, until the moment blurred into a messy crush of mouths. 

“Let me,” gasped Nick. “Let me touch you. Tell me you want that, too.”

He’d got Luke to take off his shirt already, since it wasn’t right at all, so he slid a hand down smooth skin, abdominal muscles. Luke used magic to manscape, as they all did, so there was no treasure trail.

The night before last, the mortal had come to bed wearing half a shirt and for a moment Nick had thought he’d been laid under a drowning-in-air curse.

It was like the stories adults told, about their youth when people had to be all covered up because of modesty associated with the false god. Everyone got so used to the unnatural covering up that they swooned when they saw an ankle. 

Everyone stripped off easily and without meaning at the Academy, so Nick had never understood before: _skin_ , and what baring it could mean. Was this an advance, he’d wondered? If Nick asked, would the mortal duck his head in that shy way, the way where he smiled, and let Nick take it off? 

He pulled the mortal back in against him, got him out of his pants, felt how bad Luke wanted him. 

“Don’t be shy,” Nick urged.

“You told me to be…” Luke began.

“Can you stay in character, you are killing the mood,” Nick snarled, and Luke went sulkily quiet.

Much better than the alternative! 

Sadly, it didn’t last.

“I need to go over this again,” grumbled Luke. “I’m meant to be shy but also snap at you and try to boss you around?”

“Yes?” said Nick. “How many times do I have to repeat myself!”

Finally Luke listened. As he put Nick into place, his hands were almost sure enough. His hands found Nick’s bare shoulders, pressing down firm, the way they did these days, now the mortal was getting to know him better: pulling him back, or forward, putting Nick where the mortal wanted him to be with increasing comfort and no self-consciousness. Nick was learning to recognize those hands on him, callused from pencils, paintbrushes and guns in a way a witch’s hands simply weren’t. They were artist’s hands, but they didn’t actually look like artist’s hands. 

_Witch-hunter hands._

Nick was a deviant imp of the perverse, obviously, but even he hadn’t anticipated this particular kink. Well, now it was discovered, it was his satanic duty to indulge.

“This makes no sense,” Luke muttered, hands biting into Nick’s hips, shoving in.

 _Yeah_ , he made no sense. Nick sighed with satisfaction that Luke was finally getting it right. 

The mortal was perverse too: he was made to hurt Nick, built for it, and he’d used all that to protect Nick instead. Put Nick behind him, moving in front of Nick so his witch-hunter father—who Nick knew he was scared of, who had hurt him—wouldn’t even be able to see Nick. 

Pleasure rolled over him as Luke set a pace and Nick let his head loll and felt his teeth ache with dark delight, being wanted always a thrill. He used to believe it meant he’d be kept. But fucking wasn't about feelings: you fucked the feelings away. That was how it worked, how it had always worked.

Nick wished he could reach behind him, but the hair wouldn't be soft messy brown touched with gold: it wouldn't be right at all.

“Before… That was so sexy,” Nick sighed. “I always like the gun, but especially tonight.”

“A gun!” Luke shrieked.

“Luke, I am about to be extremely annoyed with you,” Nick said, in a low terrible voice: the wolf voice, and Luke shut up.

When Nick had come to save the mortal from ghosts, he’d seen the gun in his hands the first time and was torn between annoyance that the mortal had to be a witch-hunter and ruin things, and the other part of him that said— _yeah, I could be about that life_. The way the mortal wasn’t too soft to deal with the horrors of Greendale, after all, but efficiently prepared to fight. 

And then the mortal pushed Nick aside, protective already, and Nick thought: hey, I could be about that life _tonight_.

That sure hadn’t happened. The mortal was so weird. Mostly people gave Nick the opportunity to flirt with them, and Nick slid in to fulfil their expectations. He’d done hostile flirting plenty—anyone who’d once dated Prudence had to—and he tried it, but the mortal just kept shooting him appalled looks. It was enough to make Nick worry he’d lost his touch. 

“You are so, so hot,” said a voice in his ear, fingers splayed over Nick’s abs. “Can’t stand you, but I can’t get enough of your body.”

Maybe the mortal was hostile-flirting back a bit. It had seemed as if it might be just hostility at first, but nobody would protect someone if they didn’t like them. Or invite them in out of the cold. 

Mortals liked to take it slow, but the mortal could get on taking anytime now.

Taking the spoils of victory, on the floor with that witch-hunter father bleeding out the way he deserved. Or how Nick had thought, when the mortal reached out in the truck, that he was making his move at last, and Nick could slide into his lap or they could get in the back of the truck… 

“Oh, you sweet strange thing,” said Nick. “ _When_ will you fuck me?”

“I am…” Luke began, irritably.

“Shut up!” Nick snapped.

Luke snapped, too. Suddenly he was _giving_ it to Nick, the way he wanted to get it, long slow sweet strokes that hit home a little too hard. Because Luke was annoyed, but that didn’t matter, because Nick liked it. He was moaning, there was moaning behind him, and they went rolling down on the bed and tangled together among Nick’s black silk sheets.

“Touch me,” Nick said, writhing underneath him. “Please, I want, I’ve been waiting, I’m trying _so_ hard—”

“So hard,” echoed Luke, that imbecile, but the slurred, pleasure-drunk, pleasure-stupid tone could be the mortal’s, one day, and he remembered to drop light kisses across Nick’s shoulders, one kiss dropped against the nape of Nick’s neck so it seemed to catch there, almost sweet, almost as if it really was who Nick wished it was. 

And then he was touching Nick, hand curved around where Nick was straining, and the rush of animal heat didn’t care who this was.

It felt great, until it didn’t. It always felt vaguely awful afterward, but just for a minute which Nick always got past. And—and Nick couldn’t help but think it would be different, when it was Sabrina or the mortal—Satan willing, Sabrina _and_ the mortal. It already felt different, when Sabrina touched his hair in that way she had, laying claim even if she wasn’t entirely aware she was. Or when the mortal patted his back, not even slightly possessive—not looking for anything for himself, only trying to be comforting. Nick couldn’t imagine feeling awful with them in the bed with him. They always made him feel better.

“So… will you do me, later?” asked Luke, once he got his breath back, flopping onto the pillows.

“Hells no,” said Nick. “Unless.” He paused, and considered, as he often did these days, what Sabrina or the mortal would like. “Unless you bring your man.”

These impulses were unfamiliar, but he thought said impulses might not be unfamiliar to them: the urge to do small things that would make someone happy. Like Sabrina’s Aunt Hilda, who Sabrina said made her waffles when she was sad. The wish to give them treats, to spoil them. Nobody was spoiling the mortal at home right now, that was clear. 

The mortal had indicated he thought Ambrose was handsome—the mortal was right, it was excellent that he had good taste, and it soothed a worry Nick had entertained about the mortal’s preferences being limited. He’d indicated Sabrina would not be pleased to indulge in carnal delights with her cousin, which was a moral issue Nick naturally didn’t understand, but Nick had heard even mortals had a concept of a boys’ night. 

“I can do that,” Luke said eagerly.

“Great,” said Nick, rolling out of bed and into his jeans. “And I’ll bring mine.” 

Luke made a small puzzled face. Luke was plainly mystified by Nick’s taste in men, but first, Nick was constantly and vocally mystified by Ambrose’s, and second, Nick was fairly sure Luke would come around about when the mortal took his shirt off.

Not that Nick thought the mortal would let Luke near him. No, Nick was clearly going to have to take that particular hex, while the mortal had fun with Ambrose. 

Oh, but it would be all right if that pleased the mortal. It would be nice, if he was happy more often. Nick opened the curtain, turning his face away toward the window so he wouldn't have to see Luke, and smiled.

“When?” asked Luke, keen. 

“I’ll let you know. Not for a while.” 

It might take some time, for the mortal to come around to the idea of group encounters. Since he was shy. And Ambrose wasn’t going first: _Nick_ was going first. Ambrose and that girl Roz and whoever else weren’t allowed to keep him. He was Nick and Sabrina’s mortal, and not anyone else’s. 

“Out,” Nick ordered. “I want to go see Sabrina.”

As Luke got dressed, Nick stood shirtless by the window, the sting of cold from the windowpane good against his overheated sensitive skin, and watched the snow falling outside. The tracks of the mortal’s truck had vanished away. A black sky arched over a pure white land, pristine and perfect and unmarked by the passage of wolves. 

Nick had made up his mind. This scheme would work out. It was going to be permanent, and Nick was going to be happy. 

Soon.


End file.
